


your laugh is the best sound i have ever heard

by emilybrontay



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, High School AU, Tayor Swift References, amy tutors jake bc he sucks at math, dont read if u dont like tswift, seriously so many taylor swift references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilybrontay/pseuds/emilybrontay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theirs was that substantial affection which arises (if any arises at all) when the two who are thrown together begin first by knowing the rougher sides of each other’s character, and not the best till further on, the romance growing up in the interstices of a mass of hard prosaic reality. - Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy</p>
<p>Title is from Jump Then Fall by Taylor Swift</p>
            </blockquote>





	your laugh is the best sound i have ever heard

**Author's Note:**

> for lucy and abi.   
> also everything i know about US high school comes from One Tree Hill, so everything in this is probably wrong. and i, like jake, suck at maths, hence why there are very few actual explanations of maths in this fic. i don't actually know what polynomial division is.

> Theirs was that substantial affection which arises (if any arises at all) when the two who are thrown together begin first by knowing the rougher sides of each other’s character, and not the best till further on, the romance growing up in the interstices of a mass of hard prosaic reality. - Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy

 

She sort of hated Mr Holt for seating her next to Jake Peralta. She couldn’t fully hate him, because he was her rabbi, but even so. She should have taken it as a compliment, now she thought about it, that Holt thought she was a good enough, bright enough student to ground the class clown. If Jake Peralta passed this quarter, she would see it as a personal achievement.

“Yo, Santiago,” Jake threw a screwed up piece of paper at her, and it bounced off her ponytail, “Polynomywhatsit division.”

“Polynomial. What about it?”

“How d’you do it?”

Typical Peralta. How had he been in this class for nearly a year and _still_ not know how you do polynomial division? She laid her pen down and turned to face him. She sighed, a little too dramatically for it to be sincere, and said “Do you want me to have a look?”

He beamed, and clambered to his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“The questions on the paper I just threw at you, and right now, said paper is in a ball on the floor by Rosa’s feet, so…” He gave her a thumbs up, and Charles Boyle a high five as he passed. Amy turned in her chair to watch him bow dramatically to Rosa, making her bark a laugh, sweeping up the ball of paper in his hand as he stood. It was just like him, unable to pick up paper without making a song and dance of it. He turned on his heel, grinning, and it was only when his grin widened that she realised she was smiling herself. Which was unintentional. She found his dramatics irritating, not endearing.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, and he laughed.

“You have no sense of fun do you Santiago?”

“How was any of that _fun_?

He threw himself into the chair beside her, and shrugged. “Makes people laugh,” he said, “That’s fun.”

“Whatever,” she stuck out a hand, “show me the math, Peralta.”

He handed her the scrunched up ball, and flashed what she assumed he thought was a charming smile in her direction. It was sort of charming, she had to admit. In a lopsided sort of way. She unfolded the paper, and scanned it quickly. It was, she realised, pretty much complete gibberish. And wrong. So wrong.

“Do you even know how to count, Jake?” she asked seriously, and he made a vague, non-committal noise, accompanied by another shrug.

“Miss Santiago,” came a low steady voice from behind them, “May I speak with you after class?”

“It was Jake!” she said automatically, turning in her chair to face Mr Holt.

“What was Jake?”

Holt was hard to read ( _an understatement, if ever there was one – seriously, did that man’s facial expression ever change?_ ) but it soon became clear that she was not in trouble.

“Nothing,” she replied slowly, “Jake hasn’t done anything. Yes, I will stay after class, sir.”

“That’s right,” Jake said cheerily, “I haven’t!”

“There’s still ten minutes left of class,” Holt said darkly.

“You have no faith in me, sir,” came the reply, still cheery. It amazed her, his ability to grin even when Holt was giving him a look that, if directed at her, would make her the back of her neck burn with embarrassment.

“I have faith in you, Peralta,” Holt replied, returning to his desk. Something about his tone told Amy that he wasn’t lying, and he wasn’t talking about Jake making trouble either.

* * *

 

“I want you to tutor Jake Peralta,” Holt asked, and it took all her inner strength not to groan, throw herself on the floor and beg him to ask someone else, _anyone_ else, ask Rosa for God’s sake, they went to middle school together, _please don’t make me tutor Jake Peralta, sir, please_.

“Of course!” she said enthusiastically, “I’d love to!”

“Thank you, Amy,” he replied seriously, “I understand that you are a very busy young woman, and I know that Jake is – he’s got a good brain, but he needs to apply himself.”

“I will apply him, sir!” she chirped, and then kicked herself – literally, “ _Dammit Amy_.”

“I’ve already spoken to Mr Peralta, and he agrees with me. You are the best person for the job.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“If you could make arrangements in your own time – my classroom is always open to you-”

“Of course sir! Thank you sir! It’s a wonderful opportunity, I’ll do my best!”

He gave her a nod of dismissal, and as she left, he wondered why she was so happy about tutoring a boy who had once literally pulled her pigtails.

* * *

 

“Jake Peralta!”

He was sat at a crowded table, next to Terry Jeffords and his girlfriend.

“Amy Santiago!” he said cheerily.

Wordlessly, Rosa Diaz kicked out a chair, indicating Amy to sit. She shook her head, ponytail swishing from side to side. “No thank you Rosa, I just need to talk to Peralta.”

“Well. When you’re done.”

Amy looked Jake dead in the eye, and raised a singular eyebrow.

“Whatever you’ve got to say you can say it in front of my peeps.”

“Nice to know you’ve actually seen a movie that’s not _Die Hard_.”

“What?”

“ _A Cinderella Story_ …Chad Michael Murray, Hilary Duff…”

His face was blank.

“Nothing?”

He shook his head, but still didn’t move. Rolling her eyes slightly, she grabbed his arm and heaved him onto his feet.

“Woah, what’s with the manhandling?”

She ignored him. “Bye Rosa! Bye everyone!”

“You are freakishly strong,” Jake told her. It may or may not have made her happy that he sounded very impressed at this.

“I have seven brothers – Holt wants me to tutor you in Math.”

“Yeah, he told me. Neat, huh?”

They stopped outside the doors of the cafeteria, interrupting a pair of freshmen making out (Amy, a firm advocator for the No Public Displays of Affection school rule, gave them a look so withering they literally ran away).

“In what universe is this neat, Jake? I have literally no time on my hands, I’m on about sixteen different committees _including prom_ , you can’t even-”

“It’s neat in the universe in which you’re like, the smartest person in our class and the only person who doesn’t call me Pineapples or Jakey.”

Amy pulled a face. “Why does everyone call you Pineapples?”

“Gina,” he replied simply, and the name alone was enough of an explanation, “Holt says we’re good for each other. And if you’re tutoring me, then I’m probably going to beat you to the top of the class, which is going to be great.”

She snorted. “Not gonna happen, Peralta.”

“We’ll see about that, Santiago.”

Maybe, she thought, this would be sort of fun.

“So you’ll do it?”

She sighed, like it physically pained her, and nodded. “Yes I’ll do it.”

“Nice! I have one condition,” he said, “No matter what happens, you are not allowed to fall in love with me.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

He nodded in the direction of the cafeteria, and held open the door for her.

“ _A Walk to Remember_ , huh?”

“Oh yeah, I love Nicholas Sparks.”

 

* * *

 

Jake was late to their first tutoring session, which did not surprise Amy in the slightest. It was a Saturday morning, which Jake had complained about for _the entirety of their US History class, seriously Peralta shut up and make some notes about Abraham Lincoln_. He wanted to meet at some pizza place she’d never heard of, but she put her foot down and insisted the session take place on her turf – she was doing him a favour after all. And so it came to be that Amy Santiago and Jake Peralta spent a Saturday morning doing polynomial division over coffee and, at Jake’s insistence, muffins, at The Nine Nine coffee house.

“I bet that guy over there’s writing a screenplay,” Jake said, pointing to a dude with a beanie and a beard sat by the window ( _a beanie? Inside? Seriously?_ ).

Amy studied the man for a moment as he typed furiously on his laptop. “Nah,” she said eventually, “Novel. Probably thinks movies are for phonies. Have you done the question?”

He spun his notebook around so she could mark his answer. “He’s wearing a Pulp Fiction t-shirt though,” Jake noted, “Are you going to finish your muffin?”

Without looking up from his work – he had the right answer, but his methods were a mess – Amy pushed her muffin across the table. “I had pancakes for breakfast – maybe he’s one of those Tarantino assholes.”

“Probably,” she watched him out of the corner of her eye, as he put half a muffin in his mouth in one go. She was not as disgusted as she thought she’d be.

“So your answer was correct,” she spun the notebook round again, narrowly missing his mug, “But your working is a mess, Jake, like…what do you _do_ in Math class?”

He thought for a moment, chewing slowly. “Tease you,” he said finally, and broke eye contact in a way that made Amy sad for a reason she didn’t quite understand. “We should ask him.”

“Ask who?”

“Tarantino asshole,” he nodded in the direction of said asshole, “We should ask him what he’s writing.”

“But that takes all the fun out of it!”

“Oh but Santiago,” he said, smiling widely, “don’t you want to be proven right?”

It was concerning that he knew this about her. “I do love being proved right,” she admitted, and he punched the air and got to his feet.

“Excuse me sir!”

Amy smiled to herself, and took a sip of coffee. Maybe, just _maybe_ this wouldn’t be as hideous as she’d thought it’d be.

* * *

 

Tutoring Jake was equal parts frustrating and rewarding. It was frustrating because he would rather demand to know her Top Five Beyoncé Songs Ever ( _Countdown, Sweet Dreams, Crazy In Love, If I Were A Boy, Love On Top_ ) or make her do stupid quizzes in magazines to learn what kind of _fruit_ she’d be (a grapefruit) than actually _do_ the work, but it was rewarding because when he _did_ do the work, he aced it. Two weeks after they started tutoring he was second (she was first) in their quiz on division.

“The key,” she told him wisely as they walked out of Math, toward the cafeteria, together, “is practise, and also finding what works for you.”

“The key is practise and also finding what works for you, name of your sex tape!” he said jubilantly.

“ _In_ appropriate!” she hissed, but Jake just laughed.

“In all seriousness, thank you. Although I can’t believe you’re actually enabling me to kick your ass and beat you to valedictorian, thanks Amy!”

“I can quite easily stop, you know,” she replied drily, “And then you’ll fail Math, and then you’ll be kept back, and then you’ll be one of those twenty year old seniors that goes to freshman parties and says ‘woo! Kegs!’”

“But I won’t be,” he said, and she shook her head.

“No, you won’t.”

“Because you won’t let me.”

“I won’t let you,” Amy agreed, although slightly reluctantly. Jake grinned at her, but the grin quickly turned to a frown as she started to walk away from him.

“Hey, hey, you’re not eating lunch with us?”

Amy glanced at the table he was indicating to, where Gina Linetti sat painting her nails, whilst Charles Boyle explained the contents of his fancy sandwich to Rosa Diaz. Rosa did not look impressed. They were a unit, a friendship group, and Amy had never had that before, ever. She had Kylie (who had _abandoned her_ to go to _beauty school_ ) and that was it. Rosa had sort of yelled at her to eat with them maybe twice before, but she never really felt that she had the approval of the group as a whole (particularly Jake, but things were different now, weren’t they?) and as a result, stuck to her usual eat-alone-hang-in-the-library-reading-biographies-of-serial-killers routine.

“Am I…Am I invited?” she said uncertainly, and Jake snorted.

“Invited? Amy please.”

“Well it’s just – you never eat lunch with anyone else, and I just figured – you know-”

Jake had the most bemused look on his face, and it made Amy want to stamp her foot with frustration.

“I don’t know, no.”

“Please don’t make me say it,” she mumbled, and he raised an eyebrow. The look on his face told her he knew exactly what it was she meant.

“Say what?”                                                                                                            

“ _Fine_ ,” she hissed, “you guys are _cool_.”

“Amy,” Jake said seriously, taking her by the shoulders and guiding her to the table, “Whilst I’m flattered you think that, it is simply not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Nope. Charles here – hiya buddy,” they high fived, “has seven different types of cheese in his sandwich today.”

“Gouda and-”

“I really…don’t need to hear the list,” Amy interrupted, and tried not to feel guilty when Charles’ face fell.

“Rosa,” Jake continued, “is firstly disgusted by cheese-”

“It’s gone off milk,” Rosa snarled, “What part of that isn’t disgusting?”

“And secondly, once kicked a guy in the balls so hard he cried. The guy was me, but whatever.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Rosa said, although she didn’t look it.

“Terry and Sharon are probably making out somewhere which brings us to – Gina Linetti.”

At the sound of her name, Gina looked up. “Oh,” she said, “You brought Weird Girl.”

“Amy, Gina, her name is Amy.”

“I don’t care,” Gina replied absently, and returned to her nails.

“So, Amy Santiago – what’s your middle name, by the way? – you’re eating lunch with us. And we’re not cool. Not like, high school cool. One time, the quarterback from when we were freshman, hung me from the flagpole by my underwear for six hours. I still have the scar.”

“Ew,” Amy breathed, slightly involuntarily.

“Oh, I remember that,” Gina said fondly, “You threw up five times on the way home, and stained the seats of my mom’s car. That was a great day.”

“Please tell Darlene I will compensate her when I am no longer in crushing debt, and also may I please remind you that I would never have thrown up in the car had you not been doing the nasty with said quarterback despite his having a cheerleader girlfriend, and had I not caught you doing said nasty, meaning he had to literally hang me so I would stay quiet. Which I did not.”

“At _school_ Gina?” Amy turned to her, open mouthed, “ _Inappropriate_!”

Gina merely shrugged, and screwed the lid of her nail polish shut.

“How’s tutoring going? Jake giving you any trouble?” Rosa barked.

“I am an impeccable student!” Jake protested, but was silenced when Rosa narrowed her eyes at him.

“Tutoring’s going well if you consider the results of today’s Math test, and – Jake is – it’s an experience.”

Rosa snorted, and then said nothing.

It was a strange sort of atmosphere on their table. She had the feeling that everyone was being completely themselves, which made her, in turn, feel a little less self-conscious.

“So Santiago, what’re you going to do when I ace out of Math?”

“Devote an entire paragraph to it in my college application,” she replied primly, “You’re like my project.”

“You’re her Eliza Doolittle,” Charles added enthusiastically, and then to Amy’s surprise and amusement, he began to sing “ _All you want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air_.”

“Charles, please,” Jake began, but Amy elbowed him into silence.

“Shut up, it’s nice. Yes, Charles, Jake is my Eliza.”

“You’re not allowed to fall in love with me though,” he reminded her, “the dude fell in love with Eliza.”

She laughed. “Won’t be a problem, trust me.”

Jake may have been imagining it, but he swore he saw Boyle raise his eyebrows at him, in a sort of _sure_ kind of way, like he didn’t quite believe in what they were saying. But he might have been imagining it.

* * *

 

It became routine, for Amy to eat lunch with the group, and for she and Jake to spend their Saturday mornings (he was nearly always late, and half asleep, and unable to even think about numbers until he’d drunk coffee) doing Math in The Nine Nine.

“You really love this place, huh?” Jake said one morning, after Amy had shot down his suggestion of going elsewhere due to the noise levels in their current location. She nodded sharply, and carried on looking through her notes.

“It used to belong to my grandmother, my abuela but uh – she died a couple of years ago. It wasn’t called The Nine Nine then, it was called _Santiago’s_. I spent all my summers here.”

“Means a lot to you,” Jake said slowly, and it was only then did she look up. He was looking at her like she was something very, very precious, and the tenderness of it made her avert her gaze again.

“So uh, yeah, you’re right, I really love this place. But if it’s too noisy or whatever, I mean these are _your_ tutoring sessions-”

“Nah,” he interrupted her quickly, “You’re okay. It’ll quieten down in a minute anyway. So. Hit me with those numbers, gurl.”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “Did you just say gurl?”

“Yes I did, _gurl_!”

“Stop that.”

* * *

 

On a Thursday in April, Amy realised she didn’t hate tutoring Jake Peralta at all. She realised this because at the end of their Literature class, he tapped her on the shoulder and said “Oh, before I forget – I can’t make this Saturday, it’s my Nana’s birthday and we’re going to Chuck-E Cheese, but some other time?” and this sort of felt like the end of the world. A Saturday morning without Jake’s stupid jokes, or observations about the other people in the shop, and crummy impossible-to-read handwriting, on _paper_ sounded like the greatest idea in the world, but now she was faced with reality, it sucked. What would she _do_? Where would she _go_? Who would correct her misheard Lorde lyrics now ( _honestly Amy, it’s I’m in love with being **queen** , not **clean**_ )? And how was she supposed to go about her weekend without being informed by one of those stupid magazines that he always had for some reason (she had a sneaking suspicion they were for his mom, but she wasn’t entirely sure) telling her what kind of _spice_ she was? She needed to know which spice she was!

“That’s fine,” she lied, “That’s great, actually, like – thank God! A break! From you!” And then she laughed, a little more nervously than she had intended to.

“Yeah,” he laughed along with her, “I am the worst!”

“Definitely,” she agreed, the voice in the back of her head that sounded mostly like her mom but sometimes like Rosa yelling _shut UP Santiago, this boy is categorically Not The Worst!_ “You are The Worst.”

“Well,” he replied, in a tone that she was certain was intended to be good natured, “at least I don’t have a stick up my butt.”

“Well if you’d rather I ask Mr Holt to arrange for someone else to tutor you, someone butt-stickless, so you can fail like you want-”

“I don’t want to fail,” he said quickly, “I want to win. All I do is win.”

“Whatever you say,” she said drily, “Let me know when you can reschedule, I’m pretty sure Holt’s planning some sort of surprise Algebra 3 test in the next couple of weeks, so.”

He nodded, and she got to her feet. “Happy birthday to your Nana,” she said, and he smiled a thank you.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t til she got outside, until she was on her way to US Government that she realised. The nervous laughter, the attempts at insults, the weird gnawing feeling she got in her stomach when she thought about not seeing him this Saturday. She wanted to bang her head against the lockers, _hard_ , or to clone herself so that she could yell at herself, because _dammit Amy, this was the one condition_!

She liked Jake. She thought, dimly, that she may have always liked Jake, for as long as she’d known him. It felt like he’d always _been_ there, in the back of her brain, telling stupid jokes and throwing paper and being irritatingly smart but terrible at applying himself, and _God_ , this was bad. This was – this was _inappropriate_! She was his teacher, of sorts! If they started dating ( _like he’d date you, Santiago_ ), that would be an _illicit student-teacher romance_. She was illegal! She and her feelings were illegal!

 

* * *

 

That Saturday, she spent lying on her bed, wondering whether to call Kylie, and listening to _Fearless_ , and feeling slightly sorry for herself.

“You’re not working today?” her mother asked when she appeared around lunch time, still in her pyjamas (a rarity for Amy). She shook her head.

“It’s his grandmother’s birthday. We’ve rescheduled.”

“You spend an awful lot of time on that boy,” her mother clucked, “I hope he appreciates you.”

Amy wanted to cry. And also to punch herself in the face.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, backing up into the stairs, the direction of her bedroom, “I have to – I said I’d call Kylie…”

And call Kylie she did.

“Whaddup?”

“I have a crush on the boy I’m tutoring.”

“Hey Amy! Wow, so nice to hear from you. Yes, I’m having a great Saturday, what about you? We should get coffee tomorrow, what do you think?”

“Kylie.”

“Amy.”

“I have a crush on the boy I’m tutoring,” she repeated.

“Is he hot?”

Amy scrunched up her nose. “Yes? No? I don’t know, he’s – he’s really funny-”

“Oh my God, you loser. Okay, does he like you back? This is so _Naley_ , I love it.”

“Kylie, please.”

She could see her best friend in her head, stretched out on her bed, hamburger phone (purchased after illegally sneaking into _Juno_ with the help of Amy’s brother Danny) pressed between her ear and her shoulder, twirling a nail file between her index and middle fingers.

“Okay, sorry. Serious voice,” she lowered her voice several octaves, probably to make Amy laugh (it worked), “Does he like you back?”

“I don’t know. He’s – it’s like, sometimes I think he does? And other times I really think he doesn’t? He’s always telling me I’ve got a stick up my butt-”

“You _do_ have a stick up your butt.”

“He makes these weird sex tape jokes, which aren’t funny but kind of are? And his friends are….his best friend has seven types of cheese in his sandwich-”

“Ew,” uttered Kylie, and Amy pressed on.

“He’s like, class clown, and even though he’s not _popular,_ everyone likes him, y’know and it just – that doesn’t happen for the Amy Santiagos of this world.”

“Listen kid,” Kylie said wisely, and there was a shuffling noise that sounded like she was sitting up, which meant it was getting serious, “if Rory Gilmore, nerd queen, huge square, empress of losers like you – and I say this from a place of _total love and respect_ – can land herself hotties such as the ones she did, then _you_ , my tiny uptight baby, can get on this clown, whoever this clown is. What’s his name?”

“Jake Peralta,” Amy mumbled, “Rory Gilmore isn’t real, Kylie.”

“Neither is God, but I still go to Mass every Sunday.”

“You better pray my Mom isn’t eavesdropping on this conversation,” Amy said, but Kylie just laughed.

“Your mother loves me, Amy, I could literally bang one of your brothers in front of her and she’d probably weep with joy because he’d found such a wonderful young woman to spend the rest of his life with, yada yada.”

“Ew.”

Kylie cackled down the phone. “Ames, this kid would have to be certifiably insane to not like you back. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re funny in a kind of weird and sweet way, you iron your underwear. If he’s not into you, that’s his fault, not yours. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some cuticles that need smoothing. Love ya.”

“You too,” Amy replied, slightly absently. There was a click as Kylie hung up, and Amy threw herself down on her bed, phone still in hand.

She would definitely not recommend developing a crush to a friend.

 

* * *

 

On the bright side, Jake did not seem to notice the change in her behaviour towards him (on the Monday after her Weekend of Self Pity, she high fived him on sight, which she had never done before and would never do again), which suggested to Amy that perhaps, it was not a big deal as she thought it was. Gina, on the other hand, seemed to know and see everything. She cornered Amy in the girls’ bathroom by the science lab on a Tuesday morning.

“What’s up with you and my boy Jake?”

“What? Nothing, nothing is up,” Amy replied, a little more shrilly than she had intended to, “Why? Has he said something?”

“Wow, Santiago, find your chill…I just happen to be an incredibly empathetic person and could feel your weird vibes like…they’re so strong. They’re like waves, and I’m drowning in them. I’m enquiring for my own safety, not because I care about you.”

“Right. Okay.” Amy, momentarily forgetting she was in one of the most disgusting places on Earth, slouched against the sink, “Nothing’s going on between Jake and me. We’re friends, I guess, and I’m tutoring him.”

“You also have a huge crush on him.”

“I do not!”

Gina pulled a face. “Yikes!” she said, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Ew. I sound like Charles. Anyhoo – it’s whatever to me, honestly, but Jake is like my baby brother. I don’t know what he’s going to do next year when I drop out of school to go travelling around Europe with my award winning dance troupe Floorgasm. He’ll go to pieces. I just need to know there are going to be people there to give him strength until I return, married to a Russian Mafia boss, and we can finally live the life we deserve.”

“Uh – okay?” If Amy was being honest, Gina completely baffled her, and she found herself agreeing with whatever she said just to stop her talking sometimes.

“Thank you,” Gina said, utterly earnest, “It means a lot.”

 

* * *

 

They rescheduled their session for Thursday, exactly a week after Amy’s Terribly Huge Realisation, and Jake spent most of it restlessly doodling, and cracking jokes about the shininess of Amy’s hair ( _she had made an extra special effort with it today, so that sucked_ ). They got next to nothing done.

“What is _with you_ today?” she asked him as they walked out of The Nine Nine, Amy carrying folders full of algebra.

“What’s with me? What’s with _you_ Santiago?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s with me’, I’m not the one who played tic-tac-toe _against themselves_ instead of doing the work that’s going to help you pass this year and-”

“Oh no, you just kept doing like, _stress Math_ or something, and not being able to keep your freaking hands still, honestly Amy, it made me nervous just-”

From Jake’s jacket pocket, a tinny ringtone version of Taylor Swift’s _Mine_ rang, and he swore under his breath.

“You should answer that,” Amy said primly, and he mimicked her as he fished the phone out.

“It’s my Mom – one minute – hey, Ma?”

Amy felt a strange sense of awkwardness watching him talk to his mother, albeit on the phone, and averted her gaze. There was a couple over the road, arms wrapped round each other, and she watched them window shop for a while. After a moment, there was a small cough, and she turned to face Jake.

“Sorry,” he said genuinely, “It’s – it’s kind of sort of the anniversary of my dad leaving today, and my mom likes to pretend she doesn’t remember and it’s just sort of sucky and I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

“Oh,” she said, voice small, “okay. I’m sorry.”

“C’est sera,” he said in a tone of forced cheerfulness. She resisted the urge to correct him.

“So,” Amy said, “Taylor Swift?”

“She makes me feel things,” he began, like he was justifying himself.

“I think she makes everyone feel things. Listen,” she was very aware of her own heartbeat, but she was a Santiago dammit, she’d started so she’d finish, “d’you wanna…maybe…like, get coffee or something, in a non-educational setting?”

“Nah, I should probably get back to my mom, she needs me. But, y’know – thanks for the offer.”

He did not, she noted, say ‘some other time’.

 

* * *

 

 

On the third Monday after Jake’s Nana’s birthday, nearly a month after Amy had acknowledged her Giant Crush, there was a crowd gathered outside their first period Lit class, and Amy huffed and puffed her way through, using her elbows as God intended for them to be used. She was just about to push open the door and escape the cramped corridor when Gina grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. The crowd began to cheer, and in front of her was Jake Peralta, who promptly brandished a ring box under her nose.

“What is this?” she asked, and then jumped about four foot in the air as a chubby boy named Scully began to sing, loudly and in a slightly terrifying operatic fashion. Gina then drew her attention by releasing a party popper over her head, which caused Jake to spin round and hiss “ _Not until she says yes, Gina_!” This did not seem to bother the older girl, and she cackled as the confetti floated through the air and landed on Amy’s shoulder. Scully was still singing.

“Amy Santiago,” Jake said loudly, “I spent exactly one dollar on this ring. Will you go out with me? You have to say yes, Gina already confetti’d us.”

Amy suddenly felt very clammy. This was too far, even for Jake. How did he _know_? Did he know? He couldn’t possibly know. She had an _excellent_ poker face, her dad had told her so. He didn’t know, but she did. She knew exactly how this went – she said no and everyone called her an uptight prig, or she said yes and everyone laughed, because no one asked out the Amy Santiagos of this world and meant it. She blinked, very rapidly, and Jake opened the ring box. It was plastic, with a tacky pink heart in the centre.

“You have to say yes,” he repeated, and she shook her head, ponytail swishing from side to side. Gina let off another party popper, as if trying to lighten the mood, and Amy shoved her way through the crowd. She’d miss the start of Lit but she didn’t care. Which was odd and unusual for her, because she cared about school more than she cared about anything else possibly in the world. She sped-walked her way out of the corridor, and stopped by the water fountain half way between reception and the art rooms. She took a deep breath, tightened her ponytail and bent to take a drink.

“Amy!”

She ignored him.

“Amy!” Jake was a little out of breath – he had run after her. She straightened, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“If you’re here to yell at me for ruining your stupid prank, Jake-”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Prank? What?”

“I just want you to know that it’s sick, it really is. Asking a girl out to make fun of her? I know you’re funny, I get that but-”

“You think that was a joke?” he said in a small voice.

“Of course it was,” she replied, voice equally small. His eyes widened.

“Why would I ask you out for a joke?”

“Because that’s what happens – the girl says yes she’s laughed at, if she says no she’s a bitch – God, have you ever seen a movie that’s not Die Hard? It happens all the time!”

“I like _A Walk to Remember,_ remember? But that is not the point – you really think I would do that to you?”

Amy stared at her shoes and mumbled something about middle school. He nodded slowly.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“That I think the world of you.”

She glanced up, and the look on his face told her he wasn’t lying.

“You _like_ me?”

He nodded gravely. Sharp tears had been pricking the back of her eyes since she first saw the ring box, but now they melted away, and she beamed.

“You like me!” she repeated, triumphantly, “You _like-like_ me! Ha!”

He seemed almost offended by her smugness. “Yeah, well – you _like-like_ me too!”

“That’s right, I do!”

“Alright! We should go to Lit now!”

“Yeah we should!”

They turned abruptly, in sync, and began to walk quickly, sharply, to their lesson. There was very little space between them, and their elbows kept brushing. Amy smiled to herself.

“Next time you ask me out,” she said with a tone of forced casualness, like she was just saying it offhandedly, “just – try to keep the theatrics to a minimum?”

“As you wish,” he bumped her elbow with his own, “So uh…I may or may not have got two Taylor Swift tickets in anticipation of you saying yes to the literal song and dance, and by may or may not I mean I totally have, so-”

“I’d love to,” She couldn’t stop _smiling_ , dammit Santiago, “I’d really, really love to.”

He beamed at her, hand paused, about to open the door to their Lit class.

“The dudes who did that to you in middle school are jerks. You’re great. You’re like, the greatest person I know. And I’m including myself in that.”

She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so she smiled as widely and as genuinely as she could. Slowly, a little uncertainly, she put her hand over his and, slightly awkwardly, squeezed his fingers with her own.

“Amy…” he said, “has anyone ever told you you hold hands weird?”

“Well I’ve – I’ve never – I do not hold hands weird!”

He looked at her with a strange mix of amusement and amazement. “Don’t be mad, it’s cute.”

And then he pulled his hand out from underneath hers, and caught her palm in his own, interlocking their fingers.

“This is how you hold hands. Like, for future reference.”

“Noted,” she replied, some of her old dryness creeping back into her speech.

“Shall we?”

She thought about what would happen on the other side of the door – Charles would scream, probably, Rosa would look uninterested but grill her in the girls’ bathroom after the bell had rung. But she didn’t mind. She sort of felt like she could do anything right now.

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t quite sure if she was Jake’s girlfriend or not, but whatever she was, she was enjoying being it. Oddly, not a lot had changed between them – their tutoring sessions remained Saturday mornings at The Nine Nine, Jake spent Math lessons making paper aeroplanes and cracking jokes, and each lunch time was spent at their table in the cafeteria, listening to Gina’s probably untrue Tales from the Dance Troupe. The only difference was that now he drove her home (and they spent about ten minutes kissing goodbye, which weirded Amy out in the best possible way) and they wandered to and from class holding hands, the Jake Peralta way.

 

* * *

 

The day before the Taylor Swift concert, Holt called her back after Math class, right after the bell signalling the end of the school day rang.

“It has come to my attention,” he said seriously, “that the nature of you and Mr Peralta’s relationship has changed considerably since you began tutoring him.”

Amy suddenly became very concerned he would ask her to stop tutoring him, which would suck considerably because firstly, she really loved hanging out with Jake, and secondly he was doing so _well_ , and Amy Santiago did many things but leaving tasks unfinished was not one of them.

“Mr Holt, sir,” she began, but he raised a hand and she fell silent.

“Please, Miss Santiago. You don’t need to explain your hormones to me. All I ask is that if your professional relationship becomes hindered by your personal one, or vice versa, is that you let me know so I can make arrangements for someone else to tutor Mr Peralta. That is all.”

“Yes, sir, thank you sir, you have nothing to worry about, sir, I promise you sir.”

He nodded a dismissal, and she scurried from the room. Well, she thought, that was not as awful as I was expecting it to be.

Jake was waiting for her, leant against the lockers and fiddling with a Rubix cube.

“Hey!” he stuffed the cube in his pocket, “What was all that about? Holt want to remind you to up your Math game because of my kicking your ass in last week’s quiz?”

“You wouldn’t even be _close_ to kicking my ass if it wasn’t for my dedication and hard work. And _no_ , it wasn’t. He said he’s become aware of the change in the nature of our relationship.”

“You mean that we’re totally making out on the regular? Romantic stylez?”

“Yes, that – he said if it changes anything in our professional relationship, then I should tell him and he’ll get you a new tutor.”

“I don’t want a new tutor. It’s you or nobody else.”

He took her hand, and they began to wander out of school.

“Well if things _change_ -” she began, but he cut her off.

“They won’t,” he said confidently, and then he kissed her.

There was a cough from behind them, and they broke apart, flustered. Mr Holt was stood behind them, in a dark blue military coat, clearly on his way out of school.

“Miss Santiago,” he said in perfect monotone, “Mr Peralta.”

“Mr Holt,” they mumbled in embarrassed unison.

“Have a good weekend. I’ll see you in class on Monday.”

He nodded curtly at them, and seemed to glide past, out into the parking lot. Amy held her breath as he walked by. To her surprise, however, she noticed there was something of a glimmer of a smile on his face, although it may equally have been a grimace.

Jake let out a shaky laugh as Holt disappeared into the distance.

“Yikes!” he said, “That wasn’t awkward at all! So, Amy Santiago – what _is_ your middle name by the way? – you ready to shake it, shake it off tomorrow night?”

“I was _born_ ready.”

He kissed her again, and this time, no one interrupted them.

 

* * *

 

Jake picked her up in his car, which was frankly kind of gross and always had squashed cans of soda on the floor (but she was pretty sure there was some kind of sentimental backstory to it, so she was willing to let the crushed cans go) and apologised profusely the moment she clambered in.

“What have you done?”

“We may or may not have to make a quick detour to Chez Moi, and you may or may not have to meet my mother, and if that freaks you out I totally understand, because the idea of getting interrogated by your brothers kind of makes me want to jump out of the car and run very far away, and I probably shouldn’t have said that, and you don’t even have to get out of the car, honestly, it’s just that I got ready at Gina’s, and Darlene gave me all this stuff to give to my mom, and I can come back later but-”

She leant across and kissed his cheek, and he fell into silence.

“Jake,” Amy said seriously, “It’s fine. I’m not freaking out. My brothers think you’re imaginary, by the way, they’re not so much interested in gaging your intentions as they are proving your existence.”

He raised an eyebrow. She felt she should expand on that, but equally she did not want to scare him off. She felt that just by _breathing_ wrong she could ruin it. Jake, however, raised his second eyebrow, pushing the point.

“I will tell you later,” she promised.

“I will hold you to that.”

 

* * *

 

Jake’s mother had literally just got home from work, and was listening to Bon Jovi, loudly, and drinking red wine.

“Baby!” she declared when Jake walked through the door, Amy shuffling in behind him, “I thought you were going to Taylor Swift? Is this Amy?”

She was remarkably similar to Jake, both in features and mannerisms.

“Amy, Ma, Ma, Amy – Darlene sent me,” he said, “With People magazine and baked goods.”

And he dropped the box on the table with a thud.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Peralta,” Amy said, sticking out her hand. Jake’s mother scoffed at the gesture, put down her glass of wine and pulled her into a hug.

“Please, call me Trudy,” she placed her hands on Amy’s shoulders and said very seriously, “I just want to thank you for all you’ve done for my Jacob. He is a sweet boy but-”

“Ma, please,” Jake said, but his mother waved him off.

“Shh, my boy, the girl needs to know – he is a sweet boy, Amy, but he needs direction, and you have given him that direction, and for that I am eternally grateful. If you ever need _anything_ -”

Amy blushed and began to stammer a thanks. “Thank you, Mrs – Trudy, thank you. I’ll bear that in mind-”

“We have to go now,” Jake interrupted, and took Amy’s shoulders from his mother’s grip, “Bye Ma!”

“You look after that girl, Jacob!” Trudy called after them, “She’s beautiful and intelligent and you shouldn’t let her go!”

“Noted,” Jake yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll see you when I get home!”

“I’ll wait up for you!”

“You don’t have to do that!”

“I’m your mother, it’s my job!”

“I love you!”

“You too!”

And then he slammed the front door, exhaled and turned to Amy.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. She’s nice.”

He draped an arm over her shoulder and they made their way down to the car.

“I can see where you get it from,” Amy murmured into his chest.

“Get what?”

She looked up at him, stupid, sweet, brilliant Jake. “Your immense capacity to love.”

He looked, for a second, like he was going to crack a joke, but the moment passed and he said nothing. Instead, he kissed the top of her head, very gently.

“You old softy, Santiago,” he muttered, “Hey – you wanna go see Taylor Swift with me?”

“Very much so.” She wanted to say _I’d see anything with you_ , but it felt a bit much. She thought he understood though.

 

* * *

 

Jake made her swear on the drive home that she would never tell anyone he cried during _Love Story_ , which she agreed to. “As long as,” she said, half asleep, “you don’t tell anyone about my imaginary middle school boyfriend.”

“Imaginary middle school boyfriend? And I thought this night couldn’t get any better!”

“Don’t mock me, I’m tired – I said I’d tell and I never-” she yawned, “I never back out on a promise.”

“Okay, okay, no mocking. Tell me about him.”

She closed her eyes. “Kylie-”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met Kylie.”

“You will,” she sighed, “She _abandoned_ me for _beauty school_. Anyway, we were thirteen and she got her first ever boyfriend, who was called _Kyle_ -”

“Kylie and Kyle.” Jake snorted.

“And she made me hold her school bag whilst they kissed, and it was gross but I was jealous. So I told my brother Harry I too was seeing a boy, I named him Alex, and like…I bought myself a Valentine’s Day card, and took myself on dates and the whole thing was totally sad. They found out when one of them found a receipt for the card in my purse. And the fact the envelope was in my own handwriting. It was-” she yawned again, “very-” _yawn_ “very-” _yawn_ “embarrassing.”

He glanced over at her, make up messy, hair stuck to her neck with sweat. A strange feeling pressed against his lungs, and he felt like singing. She looked so peaceful, asleep in the passenger seat of his car, and he thought he finally understood what all the songs were about.

“You’re my best friend,” he murmured, despite her apparent state of sleep. To his surprise, she murmured right back.

“You too,” she said, “you’re my best friend.”

* * *

 

_You can hear it in the silence. You can feel it on the way home. You can see it with the lights out. You are in love. True love._

* * *

 

 


End file.
